Dear Arthur
by deanisgayforcas
Summary: Merlin writes letters to Arthur about his life after Arthur's died. Semi-canonical. Very angst heavy. Mentions of Merlin and Arthur in a sexual relationship, but also mentions the fact he does ultimately marry Gwen.
1. Chapter 1

Dear Arthur,

It's been a really long time living without you. I'm starting to give up hope I'll ever see you again. I'm starting to lose faith in our legends and myths. I'm starting to miss you and let it get bad again.

The girl I like to spy on in the park came back after almost a year. She looked so lonely and lost without her friends, the boy and the girl she never failed to come without. She was sitting on the swing, eyes trained to the ground, and crying. I sat on the swing beside her, asked her what was wrong and where her friends were. Turned out the other girl found God and suddenly didn't want to be friends with her anymore. The boy got himself killed in action during the war. I wish I could have spared her that pain. I know exactly how she feels because I still feel it whenever I think of you.

I told her about you, Arthur. Said I lost someone in a war when I wasn't that much older than her. Told her the pain lessens every year that I realise you're still gone. It does, but the pain never goes away. I still feel lost without you. Still feel so empty. I keep wondering why I'm still alive if my destiny was to serve you. Are you ever coming back, Arthur? Am I ever going to be able to protect you again?

The girl told me she felt lost and useless and completely unimportant. She reminded me of you, that night we spoke about Tristan and how he said there was nothing special about you and you believed him. I demanded to know who told her she was worthless, but I have a feeling she's just underestimating herself. She might not be a queen and she might not have magic, but she matters. Her biggest wish was to get whisked away by the Doctor in his TARDIS and to help other people, save planets, kind of like what you and I did. I admire her for that. I see so much of you in her, Arthur. Maybe that's why I've taken such an interest in her.

She doesn't look like you, though. She looked more like Morgana, with her long dark curly hair and her piercing green eyes. But she's small and short like Guinevere and has Gwaine's large infectious smile. She's sweet like Leon but can be a big pigheaded like Elyan and fiercely loyal like Percival. I guess she reminds me of everything I miss about Camelot, and I don't even know her name. Perhaps the next time I see her I'll ask, though it might be a little creepy coming from an old man. Maybe I'll tell her my secret, stop being Emrys for a while and start embracing the fact that things won't be the same anymore.

I miss you so much, but you died and I can't change that. I don't want to pretend it didn't happen, but I don't want to be bitter about it forever. Maybe she can help me ease the pain. Maybe she'll renew my faith in Kilgharrah's words. I just want so much for you to rise out of Lake Avalon, Arthur. I'm still here. What are you waiting for, dollophead?

Quit milling around and come home to me.

Love, Merlin


	2. Chapter 2

Dear Arthur,

I had a fight with Lilly today. Lilly is the girl from the playground who lost her friends. She and I have been talking a lot lately. Or not talking. She sits down on the swings and I sit beside her and we usually swing in silence. Or we listen to music. The Smiths is usually our favourite. She's a writer and a musician and she likes all that kind of stuff. Music helps me cope with the fact I've lost you, but it doesn't make the pain bearable.

I still miss you with everything I have. Sometimes at night I still dream about you. I dream about cleaning your chambers or giving you much needed advice or scaring away all the deer on our hunting trips. I dream of calling you a dollophead and you telling me to shut up. I dream sometimes I tell you about my magic sooner or that Guinevere and Lancelot had gotten married instead of you and her and we lived in happy bliss. But I always always dream about that day you told me to hold you, and I kept you in my arms until I felt your light fade from underneath my fingertips. I'll never forget that day.

My magic still reaches out to you. I'll meet someone named Arthur or hear the name on the tip of someone else's tongue and my magic sings through my veins. It's waiting for you to come back and make me whole again. Why haven't you come back to life yet, Arthur? Your servant is here waiting for you, you prat. Come back to Albion and be the king this world deserves. I miss you. I feel you everywhere and I can't stop missing you. I can't stop fighting with my magic. I can't stop the hope that maybe next year or the next day you'll be rising from Lake Avalon and I'll be there to greet you, all smiles and ears and clumsiness that the old Merlin was. I want him back, and I want you back.

Why did you leave me, Arthur? Why haven't you been back?

Stop being a prat. Just come back. Come back and I promise I'll hold on to you forever. I'll never let you go. I promise.

Love, Merlin


	3. Chapter 3

Dear Arthur,

Where the fuck are you? I can't breathe without you. It's been so hard to go through the motions. Every day I am forced to keep living and the people around me all leave and die. A part of me died and I never got that back. More pieces drifted away when I watched everyone in Camelot grow old and pass on and I couldn't join them in death. I had to keep drifting on.

What's so good about this life without you? I don't have a purpose. I have only myself to look after and clean up for. Magic doesn't have a place in this world; it doesn't exist anymore. I have no real friends to joke around with or to cheer up on a bad day or to protect from the world. I thought I could replace you with Lilly, but she didn't need me in the same way you do. She won't speak to me and I'm feeling so lost and wishing I could lose myself in polishing your armour or boots. Then you would notice that I haven't called you a prat yet and you would do something nice to show you didn't think of me as just your servant and I would be okay again.

I really fucking miss you, Arthur. I just want you back. I want to go back and restart everything. If I had known how things would turn out the day I came to Camelot, I would make so many different decisions. I would have done things differently with you. I would have protected you differently than I had. I would make my feelings and magic known. I would cherish all the small moments more. I would have never let go of you and my destiny so easily. I would have fought so hard to be by your side, to make sure you lived, to make sure that I died along with you at the very end. Just you and I, two sides of the same coin.

That's what we are, Arthur. That's what we'll always be. The Great Dragon Kilgharrah once told me that one cannot hate that which makes it whole. You make me whole. I am so much less of a person here without you, all alone. I want the pieces of me to fit back into place. I don't want to be sad anymore. I want the happiness and surety I saw every time I looked in your eyes. You just need to be alive. Just come back to life for me, Arthur. Please. I am dying here without you. I need you back. And I know you need me. We would both be nothing without the other. But I promise you will never know the pain of having to live without the one you love like I have all these years. I would never wish such a living death on anyone, not even Mordred or Morgana, who forgot what loyalty and love really meant. I will never lose sight of that, even when it seems I've lost sight of everything else that ever had meaning.

Hurry up and come back to life, Arthur. I'm sick of being sad. I want smiles and insults and everything else you have to offer. Stop being a stubborn prat and just come back.

Love, Merlin


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: This might be a bit overload of angst. Warning for drug use-I was feeling kind of inspired by the movie Parked.**

Dear Arthur,

I'm a fucking failure. I'm an awful person. You were so kind a honourable and I'm a huge fraud. A gutless fraud and I hate myself. I feel so guilty and I can't stop the hurt from wracking my brain. It bounces around my skull ceaselessly. I'm alive and everyone I love is dead. I have all this power within me and yet I could no save anyone's life. I am not the greatest sorcerer that's ever walked the earth. I am an utter fake. I am a hapless shit of a bloke. I am nothing good. I go about feeling fucking sorry for myself. For a while I tried to numb everything out by getting shitfaced drunk. But then drinking reminded me of Gwaine and the tavern and then I felt useless and angry and upset over his death and how I didn't get to say goodbye and how I should have opened up to him and warned him while I had the chance.

And then…then came the drugs. I was on coke for a while, but it made me feel so sugary jittery and not at all myself. And I felt like a huge ass fake and even worse than I did when I was sober.

And then there was the shrooms. Oh gods that was bloody awful. That shit made me hallucinate. My trips weren't fantastical at all. Instead I kept seeing your face. And you were disgusted with me. You yelled at me, called me names, shunned me, kicked my face in senselessly. I felt disgusting. I wanted to strip off all my skin and scrub away all my dirty shame. Managed to take off a lot of my skin in the end. My nails were bloody and there were gashes all over my arms and stomach. Couldn't bring myself to use a healing spell. I wanted to feel broken and in pain. I fucking deserved it for being the magical fucker who survived through all this shite.

After that I really found my calling with heroin. Heroin made me numb, relaxed. It made me forget everything. I couldn't think about the fact you were dead and I survived. I couldn't think about how much I was hurting and alone. I couldn't think of how much you must have been in pain in those last few days of your life, how it felt to die in my arms. How you're nothing anymore. You just don't even exist. I needed a reprieve, and heroin in my veins was like water in the desert. I loved the feel of it. I could feel it coursing through me, working its magic as I plunged the syringe into my skin, that vulnerable crook in my elbow. I needed it more than I needed air, wanted it more than anything in the world. I overdosed a lot—lots more than I care to admit. And every time I woke up feeling like death, vomiting for hours as my system purged the overload of drugs, I was bitter. I hated myself even more than ever because all I wanted was to die and I couldn't even do that right because I was fucking immortal and useless and a drug addict and so alone and guilty and stupid that it hurt. And I was here and alive and wasting my life while you're wasting away in a fucking lake, dead, and I know you would have been disappointed I was throwing everything away pining after you.

I quit the drugs after that. I couldn't stop feeling like a useless sod but at least I was trying to be useful. I kicked the habit and tried to stop being an unsociable hermit and get on with my life. The hurt and the feelings never went away, but at least I tried. And every now and then, on the loneliest of days, like now, I can't help but let that uselessness and that guilty feeling creep into me. And the want for the drugs becomes overpowering and I can't help but indulge. I haven't stuck a needle in me tonight, not yet. I wanted to write to you first. And maybe I won't. Maybe I'll call up Lilly and ask her to talk me down, come over and hold my trembling hand. But I don't think I'm strong enough.

I just fucking miss you is all. I'm a mess, a downright fucking mess since you died, and I haven't gotten any tidier. I guess this is what they call a pathetic bloke hopelessly in love. Yeah, sue me. Just thought you should know what you do to me.

Oh, what you do to me, Arthur. Still after all this time, one thought of you and I'm pulled apart inside. I can remember the ghosts of your fingers trailing along my thighs and spine, the whisper of your lips against my stomach, my jaw. Your probing tongue in my mouth. The way you moan, clutch my hair tight in your firsts and yank on it. Hold fast to my wrists and pin them above my head like I'm your prisoner. Those memories do my head in still. I'm still aching for you. I'm lonely for the ghost of a man who might never be again. It's been centuries without you and my love for you is still there. So powerful. The same side of a coin, my other half. That's what they call twin flames, right?

Come make me whole again, Arthur. Take me apart with one blow. I want to learn the curves of your body again, feel the way we mould together as one again. I want kisses in the rain and kisses while smirking and arms wrapped around waists. I want laced fingers and sweaty skin, lazy days in bed. I want laughs and meaningless conversations. I want you, Arthur. Do you still want me?

Please come back. Albion might not need you, but I do. I need you.

Love, Merlin


	5. Chapter 5

Dear Arthur,

I'm just one big ball of angst right now. I can't control my emotions. I thought I could. But I'm lonely and sad and I don't feel useful anymore. Back in Camelot, even though I wasn't allowed to admit it, I was doing something for the greater good. I would wake up in the morning, suspect sorcerers were trying to kill you, and I'd stop them with my own magic because it was the right thing to do. Nowadays, there is no use for magic. Magic doesn't exist for people anymore. Rarely anyone has magical abilities like me—no one that I've met. There are seers and clairvoyants but with way less power than there used to be. Magic is dying because those who have believed in it are not around to bear witness. It's frustrating and I don't feel useless at all. Not anymore, because I can't _do _anything.

I used to have friends. I will admit that. I had you and Gwen and all of the knights on my side. And I had a great mum and my uncle Gaius and I loved my life, even if it was fraught with death and sadness at every turn. But this existence is utterly bleak. I've lost all of you. Sure, I have Lilly, but she doesn't understand. She doesn't know who I am, what I've been through. Magic is just a word to her: magic. Unicorns and sorcerers and all of that is just a myth to her, a fantasy story she used to read when she was a little kid. A wizard to her is Harry Potter, not Merlin. I don't think she even knows who you are, Arthur. And if she does, she probably doesn't know any of the legends. Long story short, I'm frustrated with my anonymity. Sometimes I was even frustrated with it in Camelot, even though I could understand it. I knew I couldn't go around seeking glory for the many times I saved Camelot's arse from being history because that would have meant certain death. But now…I have no one to save. I have no reason to put my skills to the test, no one to thank me for my good deeds. I just go by invisible, a stranger on the street, another random person in a sea of people. I want people to recognise me. I want them to know who I am, what I do, acknowledge me in some sort of way. I don't like being a hermit. It's not in my nature, Arthur. I want real, true, steady friends again. And I don't have them. Wouldn't know where to go looking for them again.

I guess I'm just on a pathetic ramble. So what else is new? Maybe I just enjoy doing my head in. Got nothing better to do. Maybe I'll just make some tea and take deep breaths and dream about being back in Camelot, dream all my friends still exist and maybe that'll be enough for now. I can only hope it will be because I don't know what else to do. I'm at a loss and I don't think things are going to get better.

Wish you were here so we can wallow in our misery together. Maybe someday soon. Maybe you're paying me back for all the days I kept you waiting when I was your manservant. I'm sorry. I've learned my lesson. Maybe it's about time we stop with the games and you just come back to life, yeah? You can only stay dead for so long, King Prat. Wake up and face the day.

Love, Merlin


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: First off, I really just want to thank everyone for their kind reviews! You all are so wonderful and I feel really bad about the shortness of each letter and how little I update. But thank you for reading them and caring about these characters as much as I do.

Dear Arthur,

I feel really lonely tonight. Decided to stop at Starbucks for some good high calorie coffee and to get some studying out of the way on my laptop and ended up feeling like a sap for the rest of the night. There was this really lovely couple in the coffee shop and I can't begin to express to you how much it saddened me to see how happy they were. See, the girl (her name was Holly) is this bright young thing, maybe 21, 22. She was easily 5'5 and skinny as hell with lots of freckles and pretty green eyes and light brown hair. Her boyfriend (his name was Alex) was tall and muscular, not unlike Percival in a lot of ways. And his hand never strayed far from her tiny waist. He grabbed at the skin there and stroked it with his thumb like he couldn't breathe if she was apart from him too long. And she was leaning into his chest and closing her eyes in that really comfortable way, like she felt completely safe with him no matter what. And after they ordered their drinks and sat down, I was trying not to overhear their conversations, but I couldn't help listening in a bit. They were teasing each other good-naturedly and they were so at ease around each other and knew what made the other tick and they were so perfect and beautiful together that it really made my heart hurt.

I knew you wouldn't blame me if I'd found someone else to love while you've been dead. It's been a thousand years, and I'm not a bloody saint. You of all people know that best. But…Arthur, no one's ever made me feel the way you did. No one, no matter how hard I've tried to recreate our relationship or find something to put you out of my mind. And it genuinely doesn't work. Back when drugs were my thing, I would fuck a lot of men. Had lots of pulls—just one offs, nothing serious. And I would wish that it was you instead of them and it just made me feel even more guilty and hurt even more and hate myself way more than I should have. And I met a really nice bloke once. His name was Daniel. He was a literature major at the local university and he was kind and gentle but outspoken—you know, a really good soul. And we had a relationship type thing that lasted a good long while. But I wasn't happy. I was content, yes, and I was at ease around him…but it wasn't the same. I was never in love with him. And we both knew it. Eventually he got tired of waiting around and he left in search of something better, no hard feelings between us. That was some twenty odd years ago. I wonder if he ever found that happiness. At least one of us deserves it.

Sorry. You probably didn't want to hear that. Probably don't wanna hear half the shite I write to you in my letters. Talking was something I always did, what annoyed you the most. My day wasn't complete without a 'Shut up, _Mer_lin' from you, because I was a downright blathering idiot, wasn't I? But you loved that about me. You loved a lot about me, didn't you, Arthur? Because I know I loved a hell of a lot about you. Nothing you could have done could have changed that for me—not even if you decided my magic made me evil and exposed me to the world and had me executed for it. And I thank the Gods you adapted to it because it killed me to not be my true self around you.

Anyway, I'm rambling again. Point being is, I'm lonely without you. And I don't want to go on another hopeless quest to find someone that can replace you. No one can replace you in my books, Arthur. You are utterly irreplaceable to me. And I don't want to fill my time with people who are just going to make me feel even more lonely and hollow than I do by myself with my laptop nursing a white chocolate mocha. And I don't want to look at the past and remember all of our little details about our time together. I want to create more memories with you, Arthur. I want to be that cute couple who walks in to the coffee shop and others are in awe of how well we fit together. I want to spend nights arguing with you over films, wrapped up in blankets together. I want a lot more of a future well spent with you, Arthur Pendragon. Don't you want the same?

Love, Merlin


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Woops. This has been sitting on my computer for a while. Didn't mean to wait so long to get it out.

Dear Arthur,

Today was a decent day. I felt okay. Things finally felt like they were coming together. I sucked up the loneliness I felt, sucked up all kinds of emotions, got myself out there, and had a pretty fucking fantastic interview at the local hospital. Well, one of them. The pay is shite, but it's a hospital to help the poor get the care they need. And it wouldn't be the first time I've done this. In the early days I took all the medical training Gaius gave me and applied it. And then I studied my arse off, put myself through medical school, got my job at a tiny hospital in Wales. But even with all my medical training, all my magic, there were some patient I couldn't save, and that just hurt. But I want to help. I don't want to be passive anymore. I need to focus, get my mind off of my self-pity, and really live. I just wish you were here to live through it with me.

Things would be great if you were here, Arthur. I promise. We would go on lots of morning runs together, have steamy shower sex afterwards, go to our collective jobs (you would probably be a business associate or something with power like that. Yeah, I can totally see that.) then we would come home to the flat we share together, order some takeout (mostly Chinese or Thai) and watch some telly and argue with each other about the plot and the characters and we would be happy together. We would have colleagues and a close knit group of friends we hung out with (maybe you would join a sports team. I can totally see you as a footie star) and we could go out to the pub with them on weekends, order rounds of drinks, be lively and friendly and be really comfortable with ourselves. I want comfort but also passion. I want to live that kind of lifestyle with you. I'm not sure how long I can be strong without you, but I'm going to try.

Alone at night it struck me how follow and haunted my flat is. It would have made it a lot better if I could just snuggle up to you and fall asleep after a long hard day. I want this reality so much. And so I'm going to try, so maybe when you do come back to life and rise out of that lake you'll see a happy, healthy Merlin, not a lonely fake. I don't think you would be very enthusiastic about the hollow man I can make myself become. I want to greet you as the best person I can muster without your company.

Please come back to life, Arthur. I want to show you the beauty and wonder of life shared with those closest to you again. I want to give you a second lease on life. And I want that now.

Love, Merlin


	8. Chapter 8

Dear Arthur,

Something happened today. Something I didn't mean to let happen. I almost killed someone by using magic. Haven't done that since the war in Vietnam. Not that it helped much. But I let my temper get the best of me and almost ended this boy's life.

I've been trying to take Lilly under my wing still. She's really stubborn, doesn't like to listen to other people, and fights for her own opinion. In ways she still reminds me of Morgana. Sometimes it hurts, but mostly I just want to help her. Lately she's been…well, hanging out with some people that I don't particularly like. I kept my mouth shut, because who am I to judge? And it's not as if I'm a bloody saint or whatever. But this one guy, Malcolm, crossed the line.

It wasn't really any of my business what Lilly and Malcolm were getting up to when she asked me to come over and drop some stuff off for her, but I made it my business when I could hear him yelling at her. Next thing I know he's grabbing her arm and shoving her into her bedroom wall so hard the plaster cracks and slaps her across the face. Before I knew what I was doing, I was pulling him off her, shoving him out the door, and my magic is choking him to death. Then I realised I was about to take this guy's life, and whether he deserved it or not, it wasn't my call, so I released the magical hold, wiped his brain, and told him to get lost.

Lilly says she's okay, apart from the bruises and pissed off at the hole in her wall she can't afford to fix, but I said I'd take care of that. I stayed with her last night. We stayed up curled under a blanket on her house watching classic episodes of _Doctor Who_ and smoking cigarettes and drinking peppermint tea. I liked being there for her, but I hated that I had a reason to, and I was ashamed at how I let my temper get the best of me. We all fly off the handle sometimes. I'm just not used to my emotions controlling my magic.

It all turned out okay, I think, and Lilly promised she wasn't going to see Malcolm again. For her sake, I hope that's true. And for his, if he knows what's good for him. I wish you had been there that night, too. You would like Lilly, I know you would. Maybe you'll wake up soon and I can introduce her to you. We can be best friends, all three of us.

I hope you want that too, Arthur.

Love, Merlin


	9. Chapter 9

(A/N: Promise longer ones are coming!)

Dear Arthur,

I'm so tired of people and life. Does it ever end, the pain and misery? Does it ever become okay in the end? I'm so tired of living on this way. I'm tired of living without you. I've heard too much, seen too much. It's hard to bear at times. I don't know how people can be strong. It just hurts.

I'm sorry, Arthur. I'm sorry for everything, sorry I fucked everything up in Camelot. It was all my fault. Everything. You know that, right? Maybe Uther was right. Maybe magic is evil. Maybe it does corrupt. I certainly haven't made the best choices. Neither did Morgana or Mordred or even Morgause. They were never to blame. Maybe magic was. After all, obtaining something of such power always has the ability to break even the kindest of souls.

I don't know anything anymore, Arthur. Not one thing. It's 4am and I feel like everything I've known is falling apart. I just want to rest. My bones are weary from this long journey. My mind aches of centuries never being able to rest. I want to let it all go. Do you reckon that's possible?

Wish you were here to make things seem simple and carefree. I just wish you were here. Maybe then things could be a little clearer. Maybe then I could finally seek my eternal rest. But only till then, my old friend. Only till then.

Love, Merlin


	10. Chapter 10

**(Longish Author's Note at bottom)**

Dear Arthur,

Once upon a time there was a dragonlord and his name was Balinor. He could tame dragons, could talk to them. He was happy and healthy and everything was going good in his life. Then came the evil king, who tricked the dragonlord into capturing the last dragon and chaining him up in the vaults beneath the castle. The evil king Uther hunted Balinor down, even when he was outside his realm and in the small village of Ealdor. In Ealdor lives a beautiful caring woman named Hunith, a woman the dragonlord had grown to care for very deeply. He was forced to flee the woman he loved and the child she was carrying.

This child grew up without a father. This child was born with magic, made things move without realising what he was doing. He lived in constant danger. He had to hide the best parts of himself away from everyone. He was lonely and shy and had only one friend until he was forced to move to Camelot, where said evil king persecuted this young warlock's kind.

Even though the young warlock could not be himself, he still found acceptance among his peers. He found fast friends with a lovely handmaiden named Guinevere and found his destiny in protecting the spoilt prince Arthur. He even had a crush on the Lady Morgana at one point, before she found out about the magic she harboured and he had to poison her in order to save a whole kingdom.

This young warlock found himself going from hating the prince's guts to having a grudging respect to sheer awe and love beyond anything he had ever known for the prince. And it was only to his shock he found the little prat felt the same way for the gawky, clumsy warlock. They began to meet in secret, sharing stolen kisses here and a few gropes there, until the prince admitted that even though he loved his servant, no one could ever know about them, no matter what. He played along as Arthur pretended to have affections for Guinevere and supported their holy union. Gwen had lost the love of her life and was more than willing to cover for the two lovers, pretending Arthur and her were in love, so they could build a love story of their own.

The warlock and the new king spent many years in a secret relationship, happily content with each other and more passionate as the years wore on. They were two sides of the same coin, the half of the other's whole. The warlock continued to use his magic to save the king's life until one day it was too late and the king lay dying in the warlock's arms. No matter what the warlock did, whatever power he used, he could not save the king's life.

He journeyed back to Camelot and lived a hollow existence, only half the man he used to be. A part of him died every time he watched another friend grow old and leave him, knowing he would never die alongside them. He continued on through life, never the same, never quite whole, just waiting for the moment his knight in shining armour would arise again and wake him from his perpetual nightmare and replace it with a storybook fantasy.

The young warlock is still waiting for that to happen. He is alone, he is numb, he is wishing on every bright star for the king to come back again. Though he had new things and new people to fill the spaces of his old wounds, he never completely healed. The warlock still carries his battle wounds with him wherever he goes. He is lost and can't find his way back to true happiness.

The world needs both the king and his lionheart for the balance of the world to be maintained. Everything is falling apart wherever the warlock, no longer young, turns. It is a bleak existence and he can only hope the king will arise soon and restore the world to its former glory, a time of true peace for all.

And then they can all live happily ever after.

Love, Merlin

* * *

**Hi guys! So I just want to update you a bit on what's going on with this fic. This is a side project for me, so I only write Merlin's letters whenever the mood strikes since I'm focused on another, longer writing. That's why my updates are very sporadic and not very long at all, so I'm really sorry about that. I'm not exactly sure what's going to be said in future letters, or however many more there will be, for that matter. I don't have a set story line: it just all sort of comes to me when I sit down and start writing. So you'll have to bear with me on that. But I do know that at a certain point Arthur IS going to come back. He is going to meet Merlin again and Merlin is going to give him all these letters he's written Arthur (which it's implied there are much more letters than the ones covered in this fic, but that should be a bit obvious). So you will be seeing Arthur's reaction to these letters and see a bit of how things change now that Arthur is set in a modern world. I have begin to start writing the reactions and I don't know how far I'm going to take it, but it's not going to be like a full length novel or whatever. This has always been a sort of short story/novella type of thing that doesn't go into a huge pages of imagery and paragraphs and dialogue (though I will go into that when Arthur comes back, which should be a nice change up from Merlin's straight up narration). So sorry for you having to muddle through short letters and stuff, but I do have a set ending in mind. I've just got to get to it first!**

**And also, thank you so much for continuing to read and for leaving such amazing, wonderful reviews! I'm always surprised when people tell me they love the letters, that they've cried (I can't believe I've made someone cry by reading my writing! And have it be in a good way! So omg like best compliment ever!) so you guys are simply amazing human beings and I'm really happy you all have continued to support and enjoy my little side project.**


	11. Chapter 11

**(A/N: I don't have any more of these letters written, so I don't know exactly when the next update will be! But I want your guys's opinions: how many more letters do you think there should be? Like just a guess? Because I've already written out the ending of the story, it's just the middle letters that I need to fill in before I can post my ending.)**

Dear Arthur,

Some days it's crippling how much I miss Camelot, how much I miss everyone from Camelot. I miss being able to talk to Gaius about my magic. I miss teasing Gwen. I miss all those nights around the campfire during quests and those nights holed up in the tavern, joking and carefree with all the knights. Do you remember all those times Gwaine got so drunk? And those times he dragged me into it as well, how we would sing at the top of our lungs as we spilled out of the tavern and into the streets, wobbling our way to our chambers with our arms flung around each other? I miss talking to Percival about life outside of Camelot, all the advantages and disadvantages of living in a small town where magic was permitted rather than outlawed. I miss when Leon pretended he didn't know what you and I were getting up to in the corridors of the castle and how he would always swallow our bullshit excuses, like that one time I told him I was teaching you poetry. I was always so grateful he never said anything, though I always saw the way he rolled his eyes at each new lame excuse we concocted. I was always a terrible liar. Still am.

Growing up in Ealdor I didn't have friends. It was just me, my mum, and Will. Will was a troublemaker and I was suspicious by association, cast away into a social hell because I was always so afraid of someone discovering my magic. Even though in Cenred's kingdom it was legal, it didn't mean people were any more accepting about it. And then I came to Camelot to find myself, to find a place where I belonged. You asked me once if I had find it, and I hadn't been sure that I had then. But then all the knights showed up and treated me like one of them though I was just your clumsy manservant, and I felt good, felt at home. And I liked feeling at home.

I never wanted to lose that feeling. And it hurt more than words could say to see everyone one by one leave me, to die and never come back. One by one it felt like holes were ripping my heart, the place that once felt like home was now becoming a bitter prison sentence. First I lose Will, but you were there for that. Saved your life 'cause he knew what you meant to me even then, saved you so I wouldn't have to tell you about my magic, though I eventually told you later on anyway. And then there was Freya, although you didn't know her. She was a Druid girl I'd seen locked in a cage. I had hidden her in Camelot, fell in love with her, was going to run away with her and leave everything behind. And then I found out she was cursed, that she turned into an animal at night and killed people. I was still willing to run away with her, but it turns out she was wounded while in her animal form and died in my arms. Freya became the guardian of Avalon; the legends refer to her as the Lady of the Lake. She watches over you, Arthur, makes sure you're okay and ready for when Albion needs you.

And then it was all the knights: first Lancelot, then Elyan. And then that battle of Camlann where I'd lost four of my good friends from that wretched war. I lost Gwaine, my best friend, my confidant, the one person I thought could truly be at peace with me. I lost Mordred, so young and full of promise, who made all the wrong decisions, who was blinded by that love he claimed was so much more important than power. Then there was Morgana, lost long ago, the moment I had chosen to poison her. But this was the final blow. I had created a monster out of her and I had to finally put her down, finally ease her suffering. It felt like losing her all over when the memories of a thoughtful, kind Morgana were always there to remind me of the person she had once been. And you. I lost you that day. I failed to keep you alive, and that hurt more than anything else combined. You were my love, my life, my everything. I sacrificed so many things for you, for your namesake, because of what you mean to me. I loved you with a pierce passion, a fire burning at the core of me, flames building higher and bigger, licking my heart and burning my throat with every breath. I physically needed you, wanted you, couldn't breathe without you. And then I had to let you go, had to watch as you died right there in my arms, helpless and screaming and crying because I didn't want to let you go, because I couldn't stop thinking about how it should've been me who died in your place.

And then as the years progressed and I accepted my destiny as Emrys, the immortal, I watched Gaius grow too old and weary and pass away in his sleep. I remember when the news got back to Camelot that Percival set out on a journey with Galahad, never coming back from their mission, never heard from again, leaving Percival's wife Blanchefleur to take care of their young son Lohengrin on her own. I watched as Gwen played a broken queen, how Leon mended her wounds with his friendship that soon turned into love, and how a sickness I couldn't cure had attached itself to her bones, and she died weak in her husband's arms. My mother died not long after Gwen, too far away for me to use my magic to save her. Leon was the one of our former knights who served until he couldn't any longer, lived well beyond his years, and then collapsed in the streets of Camelot when he could go on no longer. There were others after that—Bors, Lamorak, Kay, Bedivere, Pellinore, Gaheris, Gareth, Geraint—but they were all after your reign. And one by one they all died and Camelot was a hollow empty place for me and I was so bone weary and there was nowhere to call my own anymore.

I keep thinking maybe they'll come back to life too, when you do. We could all be a family again, the best of friends. We could get flats near each other, have certain times where we all get together and catch up, just be close again. I miss the camaraderie of my old friend. I miss you all so much, and nothing can fill those spaces, those scars, of living an abnormally long life, not even making new memories with new people in my life. Nothing is as good as the original. Is it selfish to want it all back, that safe and peaceful feeling, where I felt okay in my skin? Sometimes I forgot all about my secret, the magic I possessed, while in the company of my mates. I felt free, not like the weight of Camelot's future was resting on me, though of course it was, and the feeling of being okay faded whenever I was alone.

I just want a chance to go back, a do over. To cherish more memories, to handle situation differently, to be bolder and brighter and not so afraid of everything. To find myself again. To find you and relive the magic (no pun intended) of discovering each other. I want it all back.

But I suppose since there's no magic button to go back in time, I'll just have to wait to create more memories with you, even if I know I will have to let you go a second time, and how it will hurt so much more than the first. Because what will happen if you come back, Arthur? You're only human. You cannot live forever. I wouldn't wish that upon anyone. You will come into the world as you are now, you will give, grow old, and die. And my only wish is that I could die with you, but I know such dreams cannot be. I'm sorry about that, Arthur. Sorry I can never truly sacrifice myself for you. Sorry I am the way I am. I'm just sorry I'll have to see you go again.

We'll cross that bridge when we get to it, though. I don't want to think about that now. I just want to immerse myself in my nostalgia, to nurse a beer and think about all the good times I've had, not the bad ones I will inevitably face again. I can fall asleep dreaming about life in Camelot and maybe it will feel as if I am still there, as if time has stood still instead of moving forward. I can almost dream you're here with me, the ghost of your fingers on my skin, your breath hot on my neck, the press of your erection against my bare arse. I can almost dream we are in love and happy, ready to face the things that come are way, so long as we have each other. I can almost pretend.

Love, Merlin


	12. Chapter 12

**(A/N**:** So I decided that there is going to be this letter and one more after it, to total thirteen letters in all on here. Not sure when the next one is going to get written or the next update. I keep opening my word document and adding more and more to the story a little each time, so I think I'm going to wait a bit and wait until I stop coming up with little tidbits to write in. But the end is coming soon, in maybe like four or five more chapters.)**

Dear Arthur,

I had a nervous breakdown. Or whatever the fuck it's called. I panicked. One too many dead patients, one too many broken people in the world, too many nights without anything to feed my heroin addiction.

I fucked up again and I'm so so sorry, Arthur. I really was going to get clean for you and I slipped. I screwed it up. I let myself spiral down again. And I'm paying the price for it, trust me. I've been spending all day in the loo with my head stuck inside a toilet, tremors shaking my whole body, sweating out my sickness. I've forgotten how much the drugs make me sick when I stop using them for a long time and then use as much as I did last night. I just needed something, Arthur, something to take my mind off everything. Something to numb me but make me feel pain at the same time. To make me forget all reasons I need to be punished while punishing me at the same time. Every day is not a blessing for me, it's more like a curse, living as long as I have, and every day it scares me just a little bit more. I just need to be reassured every now and again that things aren't always as they seem. Even though I'm living proof of that, having fooled all of Camelot into thinking I was a simple servant for so many years.

Now I don't know what to do with the rest of my drugs. I've got enough left for maybe two more hits. I don't want to throw them out but at the same time I'm not sure that keeping them around is wise. Sometimes it's like a calming thing, you know? Like just knowing that it's there if I ever need to use it gives me strength to resist it or whatever. I'm probably not making any sense to you. I tend to freak out when I realise it's gone and then I'm frantically searching for more, but if I'm certain it's there just in case, I don't know, it just reassures me. Guess you know how fucked up I am now, huh? As if you didn't know that before from the myriad of thing I've already said to you.

On a side note, I splurged and bought myself an acoustic guitar. And I say splurged in the fact that it's a second hand guitar, dings in the wood and stuff, but it still works well. I prefer to think of her as well loved rather than used. I haven't named her yet. Can't think of something that won't sound completely cheesy. I taught myself guitar many years ago and always played when the mood struck, but I've never really had a guitar to call my own. Maybe now that I've got the instrument at my disposal it'll help me calm down. I can play lots of The Smiths for you, and The Cure and The National and lots of other bands whose name has The in front of it. I can even sing to you sometime if you'd like, if you promise not to laugh at me or make some prattish jab at my voice. I know you will, Arthur, and one comment out of you and I'll stop playing for you altogether. Let's make that clear right now, you clotpole.

I guess right now I'm writing to you because I'm consumed by grief, a deep down sadness that I don't have a name for anymore. I needed to do something constructive before I decided to use those hits I've got stashed away in a drawer. But I think I'll trade the drugs in for a cup of lemon tea and a semi good night's rest.

Sleep well in Avalon, Arthur. I hope like me you'll awake when morning comes.

Love, Merlin


	13. Chapter 13

**(A/N: GUESS WHAT? This is the last letter! Which means there are THREE more chapters before the end, making it 16 in total, 13 letters in all. Sorry it took me a long time to get this one written out and finished. But like I've stated, I've got the last three chapters already written and edited. I'm waiting to post them until I get this story all updated and finished on my AO3 account. Then I'll post the updates, hopefully every other day. So the end is near. I hope you all enjoy this letter.)**

Dear Arthur,

I think it's time to say goodbye to you, to close the book and stop writing these pages. It's over. I don't understand the concept of faith, which has been wavering so much lately. Take a look at the world and all you see is misery everywhere. There is still war, there is still bloodshed, there is hate and angst and some really bloody awful things that people have to deal with. This is a hopeless existence I have to crawl through eternity after eternity, watching places crumble and people break with the pressure they are put under. Things fall apart and die and leave. Things fade because the hope and happiness and faith have been leached from the peoples' hearts. And I've fallen prey to that.

I said I'd never let you go, Arthur, and I never did. But I think it's time to move on. I can't die, I can't make things right in this world, and I'm forced to live without the comfort you used to bring me. Some days I see things crystal clear. I can smile and laugh. I can joke with people. I have spikes of happiness that take over in my chest and I don't know what to do with them. I go out for beers at pubs with coworkers or I go out to the cinema with Lilly and there's a pang in my chest where something is missing. And I know it's you. It's a thirst for you that can never be quenched. It's heartache and loneliness, a pain that goes so deep that it cannot be dug out or healed. I am damaged and the worst part about it is that I can't just get rid of it. I tried with the drugs. Do you know how often I've tried to die over the years, Arthur? How many times I took a knife to my gut after you died? How worried I had my mother and Gaius and Gwen? How they suffered because I suffered alone without you? Do you know how many times I tried to get myself killed in battle, to overdose, to take a knife and just slash and slash until there was bloody stains in the carpet I couldn't get rid of? Do you know the anguish I felt, the curse of my magic? Magic is not always beautiful, all golden sunshine and tricks. It's brutal and harsh and ugly. I've killed people with my magic. It's twisted me in ways I can't express, it's taken people from me, taken parts of myself along with it that I can never get back. Magic is corrosive. I am burdened by the fact I am Emrys. I want to be normal. I wanted to grow old and die at your side like I always promised you. I wanted to be your servant until the day I died. I wanted it all, growing gray, getting old, watching the younger villagers and laugh knowingly with you when they remind us of the people we used to be in our youth. I can fake being an old man, being Dragoon the Great, but I am not him. I am just Merlin. I am an immortal shell of myself, and I have never been so sad or alone or burdened by anything in my entire life.

And I cannot hold onto anything, because everything fades. Nothing in this life is certain; it's all tentative, fleeting, quick to leave and shape and change. All except for me. I am a being that is too powerful, who should not exist. I am an imbalance in this world. And you are never coming back, because nothing good ever happens to me, not really. I can dream and imagine and pray to the gods that maybe, just maybe everything I was told about my destiny wasn't a lie. Because really, what good did I do in Camelot? Yes, I saved your life many ties, but at a price. We had a plan, Arthur. We were supposed to bring magic back to the earth. You were supposed to reign for years in a golden age of harmony in Camelot. You were supposed to be the greatest king Albion has ever known, so good that he could never truly die forever, and I was supposed to be the greatest sorcerer the world has ever known that travelled by your side and advised you. And we never achieved that goal. I failed. I let Mordred take your life before magic could be restored. You were king of Camelot for in a troubled time, never knowing peace, never having found that harmonious balance we were supposed to bring about. I doubt the gods will keep their promise of bringing you back after I failed them so horribly. Your fate was sealed, Arthur, and I helped seal that fate. And I will never forgive myself for the part I played in the failing of your destiny, how my life intertwined with yours and fucked everything up. Perhaps things would have been better, easier, if I had stayed in Ealdor with Will and had never tried to get a handle on my powers like my mother wanted me to. I would have been happy, I suppose, being the outsider, the clumsy boy with the big ears and long legs, always saving that troublemaker friend of mine. Perhaps that would have been a better life for both of us. You would never have had to disappoint your father by marrying Gwen. Morgana would never have changed into the person she became. You would be happy and rule the land until you were old and gray and no longer powerful with your trusted knights and loyal subjects grieving at your feet, not grieving with the poor servant you left behind.

I'm sorry. I always fuck things up, don't I? Sometimes I do too much good, sometimes I don't do enough. Sometimes I take too many risks, sometimes I stop taking them out of fear. I let things bother me too often and other times I pretend they never happened. I am a mess of contradictions and it is only getting worse. It is weighing heavily on me. There is a sorrow like an ocean inside of me, a tsunami swallowing me up, drowning me. Sadness is consuming, getting worse, taking over. Surely nothing left of me will be here in the years to come. Not anymore. I'm just tired and no matter how hard I fake that things are getting better and that I am happier I know none of it matters, Arthur. None of it ever mattered without you.

Fuck. I'm so drunk right now. I think Gwaine would be impressed with the amount of whisky I've drunk tonight, the bottles I've consumed. Don't worry, cariad, it's not like I can die of alcohol poisoning. Immortal, remember? All I can get is a fuzzy head and thoughts I don't want and a bitterness that gets tangled up in my head and drags me down. I can't swallow it all away, but I can swallow my alcohol and hope it eases the pain just a little bit. I'm guessing you'd be disappointed with me if we were still back in Camelot. But we're not and I need to stop thinking that I can do all these things and think all these thoughts and that I can go back. There is no magical time machine that will take me back to the past. The Doctor isn't going to show up in his TARDIS, slap some sense into me, take me back to Camelot, and let me feel things I thought I would never feel again. He can't take me to the future and show me whether you come back to life or not. All I get is this: the present. The immensity of my aloneness. My sadness is not beautiful. It is crippling. My life is not a faerytale. It is a nightmare, the deepest pits of Hell. I am not the greatest sorcerer to ever walk the earth, I am the loneliest. I am the last of my kind. I am the Doctor. Now I know how he feels. Except, of course, he's only fictional, and I am a real, living, breathing body, stuck in this world, and I can't go back and fix things, and I can't die. All I can do is exist.

This world is nothing without you, Arthur. And so now I can stop pretending.

Love, Merlin.

* * *

Merlin spills his tumbler of whisky all over the pages and goes to the kitchen to gather paper towels. He cleans up the mess, his mind stuck inside some sort of memories, and breaks down. He falls onto his bed, curled tightly into a ball, clutching his sides like he'll split in half, and sobbing until he can't anymore. He falls asleep and when he wakes up 15 hours later, groggy and bleary eyed, he looks at the letter sitting on his desk. The pages are dry, but the ink is smeared and blurry from the alcohol and the pages faintly reek, and Merlin cheeks flush in embarrassment. He tears the pages up into tiny little pieces and throws them into the rubbish bin and doesn't give it a second though. He just sighs, bone tired, and goes through the motions like he does every day, because he has nothing left to do, and he is, truly and after all, alone in a world where everyone else is alone.


End file.
